


The Once and Future King

by AsexualArchivist



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Magic, Merlin AU, Slow Burn, also this is gonna be playin real fast and lose with merlin canon cuz i remember almost none of it, warlock Jon, well its kinda a merlin au but also martin isnt as big a dick as arthur was soooooo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 00:33:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19841818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsexualArchivist/pseuds/AsexualArchivist
Summary: "Jonathan Sims was a warlock.Jonathan Sims was also an idiot.The fact that being the first was currently a crime punishable by death, made the second all the more pertinent."A warlock in hiding named Jonathan Sims meets a prince named Martin Blackwood.





	The Once and Future King

**Author's Note:**

  * For [desert-lurker (wolfygoeswild)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfygoeswild/gifts).



> ok i wrote this EXCLUSIVELY bc the fabulous Hannah did some good good art of warlock Jon and it was AMAZING.  
> Also Hannah constantly provides us good art so I HAD to reciprocate somehow!!!
> 
> Hope yall enjoy it, and go follow Hannah cuz their art always makes me so happy its gorgeous:  
> [@vissercomplex](https://vissercomplex.tumblr.com)
> 
> ANYWAY i hope yall like it <3!!!!!

Jonathan Sims was a warlock.

Jonathan Sims was also an idiot.

The fact that being the first was currently a crime punishable by death, made the second all the more pertinent.

Jon muttered angrily to himself as he trudged through the streets of Camelot. He had come here to find his fortune, to find his destiny, to harness his magical powers and to discover his true potential.

Instead, he lived in fear. The guards and knights were brutal to any peasant like himself stumbling around the streets, and they were quick to accuse anyone who dared to fight back of being a warlock, especially if there were no friends or family to argue their case. Which, unfortunately, was exactly Jon’s situation. 

Jon shook his head, clearing his thoughts. He needed to focus; he hadn’t been able to find a job in the week since he had gotten here, and the meager funds his grandmother provided for his journey were already starting to dwindle. He was getting a bit desperate as he searched for anyone willing to take him on.

His brief focus was shattered, though, when he heard a shout, followed by the murmur of a large crowd. 

“Robert Kelly,” boomed the voice from across the square, “you have been found guilty of practicing sorcery and witchcraft, endangering the lives of our citizens with your nefarious magic. And for that crime-“

“Please, I haven’t done anything wrong!” The man cried, and Jon’s heart twisted; he was just a boy, far too young to die. “I would never hurt anyone, you have to believe-“

“Silence, warlock!” The executioner cried to cheers from the crowd. “You are in direct violation of our king’s will. And for that, the punishment is death.”

Robert sobbed as he begged. “I only ever helped people, I-“ 

“Then,” the executioner said, a cruel smile on his lips, “explain this!” And he yanked a chain from around the boy’s neck.

The effect was immediate; Robert’s teeth grew long and pointed, and his fingernails shifted into claws. Most telling was the dark brown tail that suddenly appeared, curling itself around the boy’s leg.

The crowd gasped in horror, some even screaming at the sight. Parents covered their children’s eyes and muttered amongst themselves, shocked.

“The law is to prevent these- _monstrosities_ from roaming around unchecked,” the executioner explained, disgust clear in his voice as it rang out over the crowd. “Imagine what a beast like this would do to your families if left to its own devices!”

The crowd muttered their assent as Robert looked around desperately for a place to hide. Jon’s heart ached with sympathy. He stepped forward almost unconsciously, seeking for a way to save the boy, but there was none. Not with the crowd, and the guards, and the knights laughing their cruel laughs at the boy who was about to die.

The executioner was winding up his terrible speech, and Jon didn’t want to wait around and see just what was in store for him should he let his magic be known. He turned and began to trudge away, wincing as the crowd cheered behind him.

“Stop!” A woman cried, pleading and desperate. “Don’t- don’t hurt him, oh god, Robert, oh god-“

The woman collapsed into sobs. Jon felt tears prick in is own eyes at the sound, and wished he could offer the woman some form of comfort. He turned around to speak to her, but she was already on her feet, marching towards the executioner with rage upon her face. She was caught by two guards, and though she thrashed in their grasp, she could not break their hold. Instead, she screamed, and looked at the executioner with more fury than Jon had ever seen on a person’s face in his life. 

“You will regret this,” she said, voice quivering with anger. “I will make your king wish he had never been born. I will make Camelot _pay_ for what they’ve done to me, to all warlocks.”

And then, quicker than the guards could react, she vanished into a puff of green smoke.

Jon couldn’t help but hope that the woman would succeed in her revenge plot as he quickly made his way from the horrible scene. He couldn’t quite ignore the soft sound of the boy dropping, and the instant cheers of the crowd. Jon did his best to try, though, as he frantically scrambled on his way. 

He stumbled through the streets, not paying attention to where he was going as his mind went down dark pathways. Jon almost didn’t notice when he rammed straight into a young man. They both tumbled to the ground.

“Oh- oh god, sorry,” the man stuttered as Jon tried to dust off his tunic. “I wasn’t paying attention-”

“No, no, it was my fault,” Jon said as he stood. “Just a bit lost in my own head.”

The main smiled at him as Jon offered him a hand. “Thank you. S- sorry about that-”

“Servant!” A voice boomed from behind them, and the man flinched. “And just what are you doing, hmm? Running off to talk to your pauper friends? You’re violating your contract, you know.”

The man in front of Jon scrambled towards the man who was speaking, and Jon had to fight to not make a noise of disgust when he saw the knight, who crossed his arms and scoffed. 

“You know how easily I could replace you, servant.” The knight grinned cruelly beneath his helmet. 

“Yes sir, I’m so terribly sorry-”

Without any warning, the knight drew back his hand and slapped the boy right across the face. He stumbled, then fell into the mud. The knight howled with laughter as the man stumbled to his feet again.

“Stop that!” Jon jumped at the sound of his own voice. He really hadn’t meant to get involved, but the boy just looked so terrified… He couldn’t stand idly by, no matter how much he knew he should.

“Oi, your little friend is trying to protect you?” The knight scoffed. “That’s cute. Pathetic, but cute. What, are you going to cry at me?”

They were starting to draw a crowd now; Jon was keenly aware of all the eyes on him as he stood up to his full height, which was much shorter than he would have liked.

“Leave him alone,” he muttered, reaching deep inside himself. He narrowed his eyes at the knight and felt the world compress to just him, just this asshole who needed to be taught a lesson. His eyes burned. And then, out of nowhere, the knight’s expression shifted from cocky to confused to horrified.

“N- no. Stop, just… stop, stop!” He screamed, clutching at his head. He dropped to his knees, groaning in pain. The servant boy scrambled away from him and glanced up at Jon with expression that was both grateful and horrified.

“I’m- I didn’t- what are you doing?” He squeaked, and Jon came back into himself.

Well. Shit.

“I- ah- I-“ he stammered. Then he did the first thing that came to his mind- he bolted.

Of course, he didn’t get far before a knight caught up to him, hauling him up by the arm and dragging him bodily back to the dungeons beneath the palace. Soon, he was thrown unceremoniously into a damp cell, though not without a few parting blows from his captors. Jon sighed and put his head in his hands.

What had he done?

He fiddled with his glamour pendant and thanked any god that was listening that they hadn’t thought to strip him of it. That would have spelled his death for sure.

Well, he was almost certainly already dead, so he guessed it didn’t matter all that much. Still, it was nice to at least have the comfort of his glamour draped around him like a shawl. At least he might die human.

Jon had no idea how long he stayed in that damp, dirty cell, but it was long enough for him to consider every possible route of escape, including the magical ones, and had concluded that he was better off dying a quick death than being shot or stabbed to death by any of the guards. He tried his hardest to accept his impending demise, but found his breath stuttering in his chest as he struggled to think about anything else. Finally, a noise jolted his mind back to his body; a door was opening.

Footsteps made their way slowly down the corridor outside of his cell. Jon tried once again to get his breathing under control, then finally gave it up for a lost cause and let himself start hyperventilating in earnest. The footsteps quickened. And then, they stopped. Jon didn’t look up; he knew whoever it was was right in front of his cell. A key rattled in the lock, then the cell door screeched open.

“Are you alright?”

The voice was soft and kind and warm. It was so strange to hear a voice like that addressing him in this grim place that Jon momentarily stopped his desperate gasps for air. He looked up.

Standing in front of Jon was the most beautiful man he had ever seen. His face was round and soft, and currently pinched in concern. His hair was like liquid sunshine, and his eyes were warm and brown and deep. His clothes were so clean they almost hurt Jon’s eyes to look at, trimmed in gold and silver and bright with color. He blinked up at the man in awe for a moment.

“Um. A-are you… do I need to get a medic in here?”

Oh, the man had asked him a question, hadn’t he? “No! No, I’m fine, I’m sorry.” He looked at the man again, and when he didn’t offer anything else, continued. “Ah- what’s happening- who are you?”

The man smiled, and Jon’s heart almost burst in his chest at the beauty of it. “Oh, I’m sorry, how rude of me. I’m Martin. Martin Blackwood.”

Jon’s smile dropped.

“P-prince Blackwood?” He stammered. His breathing started picking up again.

“Oh, well, I suppose…” he laughed sheepishly. “I’m not really quite used to being a prince yet? It’s a bit new, actually.”

“...what?” Jon couldn’t tell if it was his panic clouding his judgement, or if the prince wasn’t making any sense. 

“Never mind.” Prince Blackwood waved his hand dismissively, then went back to looking at Jon in a way that was born calculating and concerned. “I heard you got into a little trouble, ah… what’s your name?”

“Jon.” The prince looked at him, seemingly expecting more, but Jon offered nothing more.

Why was the prince of Camelot coming to see Jon personally? Just how badly had he fucked up? Again, Jon prayed, this time that his death would be quick and relatively painless.

“Well, Jon. Apparently you attacked one of my knights.”

And there it was. Jon closed his eyes.

“But his servant vouched for you, as did many of the bystanders. You were protecting that boy, yes?”

Jon opened his eyes again, mouth agape. “Y-yes. I was trying to.”

Prince Blackwood nodded. “Good. I’ll be having a chat with all of my knights about the people they’ve been sworn to protect.” Jon could hear the anger in his voice, and thanked the gods it wasn’t directed at him. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

Jon’s mind was whirling. Was this really the son of the terrifying King Lukas, the man who demanded all warlocks be exterminated? This man, with his kind eyes and righteous fury?

“Y-you’re welcome?” It came out sounding like a question, and Jon winced. Prince Martin just smiled at him, though, and offered his hand for Jon to take. He just stared at it.

“I- am I free to go?” No matter how kind the prince might seem to be, Jon doubted even he would let a warlock roam free.

“Of course,” the prince said with his bright smile. “You’re completely innocent. I would have hoped that my knights would fight for the weak as earnestly as you. I mean,” he laughed, then gave Jon an apologetic look. “You don’t really seem the type to throw a punch, but apparently you did quite a number on Ancelm.”

Jon gave the prince an incredulous look. He… he really didn’t know about the magic?

Jon didn’t much believe in gods, but after that he might just have to start.

He took the hand that was still offered to him and pulled himself up. Prince Blackwood patted him on the back. It was incredibly awkward, but surprisingly heartfelt. Jon found himself smiling back at the prince.

He led Jon out of the cell, up into the palace. He felt so out of place; he hunched down to try to remain unseen. But he heard the murmurs as they passed, muttering accusingly about how the prince’s soft heart was going to get the whole of Camelot killed one day. Jon’s face burned as their stares bored into him.

Prince Blackwood led the way to the entrance to the palace, chatting idly about trivial things along the way and seemingly ignoring the eyes following them. Jon just nodded along mutely, wondering how he got into this situation.

“So- uh, what- what do you do for a living?” The prince asked awkwardly. Jon snapped back to awareness.

“What?”

“Your- job?” The prince asked, cocking his head. Jon just looked back at him.

“I don’t have one.” And what kind of a question was that for a prince to ask a peasant? Was he really that daft?

“O-oh,” Prince Blackwood muttered, flushing red. “Sorry?”

“Nobody really needs someone as scrawny as me for grunt work,” Jon continued, shrugging. It was just as well; Jon would probably collapse from exertion 

“Are you- are you okay?”

Jon just looked at him. What? Why did he even care how the poor lived, he was a prince! He didn’t need to care about that kind of thing!

“Not particularly, no,” he bit out before thinking better of it. Prince Blackwood’s face fell, and Jon immediately felt guilty. Then his smile picked up again, brighter than ever.

“Oh! How are you with apothecary work?”

Jon stared.

“Because our doctor was talking to me about needing an assistant the other day, and I told her I would look and then I found you so maybe you could do it?” He gave another winning smile. Jon briefly wondered if the world was playing some elaborate prank on him.

“I am… familiar with medicinal herbs, yes.” Not quite a lie; as a child, Jon had read whatever he could get his hands on, including dense medical texts his grandmother dug up for him. He was fairly certain he remembered enough to at least pretend.

“Excellent! I’ll let Gertrude know right away!” And, before he had time to process what was happening, Jon was being yanked further into the palace, swerving through corridors and walkways lined with guards. He was intimately aware of each pair of eyes tracking him through the palace, watching his every move. Magic swirled uneasily in his gut as he considered just how far he had wandered into the lion’s den.

Jon was beginning to wonder if Prince Blackwood’s appearance in that cell had saved his life, or had cursed him with a much more drawn out and painful death sentence.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! <3


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